


The Connection

by AnonymousJedi



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby Yoda - Freeform, Canon Divergent, Cara ships it, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First time mando, Fluff, Kind of on the softer side, Romance, The Child - Freeform, Unmasked Mando, Will They Won’t They, but they both want more, mando worships his woman, one night of passion, protective dad Mando, smut on the Razor Crest, that damn helmet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousJedi/pseuds/AnonymousJedi
Summary: A sweet moment between Mando and Omera leads to an undeniable lingering connection between the two. But can anything really come of it? Can Omera ever truly know the man she cannot see? (A fluffy/angsty fic with some smut in later chapters)
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

As the village finally begins to settle in for the night after their celebratory festivities, Omera makes her way to their hero’s temporary quarters. Peering in the open doorway, she’s pleased to find him awake but facing away, tending to his weaponry as he so often does.

“Good evening,” Mando greets, having sensed her approach. She nearly blushes at how observant he is, realizing she probably should’ve spoken first instead of just watching in quiet fascination. 

“Good evening,” Omera replies as he finally turns to face her, carefully leaning his rifle against the wall. He’s strangely considerate when they speak now, always giving her his full attention. It might’ve intimidated others into thinking nothing they have to say is worthy of his time, but not Omera. She appreciates his respect and reciprocates it as best she can. 

The Mandalorian steps forward slowly, until they are mere feet apart, waiting for her to speak.

“I just wanted to thank you for all your help,” the widow offers with a soft, grateful smile. “I can’t tell you the last time I’ve seen the village so at ease.”

Mando merely nods in acknowledgment and Omera finds it difficult to look away from him. Even behind all the armor, his presence is alluring, and she wonders if he enjoys her company as well or if he’s bored of her and simply being nice. Omera isn’t normally the type to be intimidated, but her chest flutters in a way she hasn’t experienced in years and suddenly she wants to be anywhere but under his mysterious gaze. 

“Well, it’s late. The kids are asleep. I should let you get some rest,” Omera remarks, breathless as she excuses herself. 

“ _Wait_ .” 

She stops dead, her body obeying as if having been stunned into immobility. Was that a hint of _desperation_ beneath his modulated helmet? Omera slowly spins around in curious surprise, and her eyes ever-so-hesitantly find the dark visor that conceals his face from her. There it is again- the irregular thrum of her heart causing her breath to catch in her throat before it can make it all the way to her lungs. 

The brief silence between them is interrupted when he finally speaks. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

She isn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but Omera can’t help the small, proud smile that tugs at the corner of her lips at his inquiry. Regaining some of her confidence at his admiration, she stands a bit taller before replying. “I guess you have your secrets, and I have mine.” 

_Maker_ , she wishes she could see his expression. Now more so than ever before. To put a face to the voice that haunts her- to look upon the man who just restored the sanctity of her home. It takes every ounce of self control not to reach for him and rip that helmet off, but somehow she manages to keep her hands at her side. 

“Thank you,” Mando says suddenly. And before Omera can even open her mouth to ask what in the galaxy he could possibly be thanking  _her_ for, he cuts her off. “—for not asking of me what you so clearly want to.”

Heat flushes through her entire body and settles in her cheeks as he studies her from behind that kriffing helmet. 

“I-“ stunned, Omera is unsure of how to respond. “You have nothing to thank me for,” she stammers, knowing it only would’ve been a matter of time until she had caved and asked him to stay. It’s a selfish desire, and she sees that now. “I should go-“ she manages, turning in attempt to escape her guilt and embarrassment at his observation. 

“Please stay,” he requests, reaching out to capture her wrist in protest. 

Omera looks down between them to where his gloved fingers hold her captive. It’s difficult to reconcile the nameless, fearless bounty hunter with the gentle man standing before her now.  Omera looks up at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, wondering what he could possibly want. 

“You’ve shown me great kindness in our time here,” Mando remarks simply. “I’ve travelled the galaxy far and wide and have met few as hospitable as yourself.”

Omera appreciates the compliment but is confused as to where this is going. With his free hand, Mando closes the door and her heart skips a beat as they find themselves completely sealed off from the outside world. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” she assures him, wanting to be clear that despite her infatuation, she would never ask the impossible. 

“But you deserve _everything_ ,” he counters calmly, stepping forward so that they’re face to face- closer than ever- and Omera can hardly breathe. With great hesitation, her hands gently slide over his chest plate and the steel is surprisingly warm beneath her fingertips- truly a second skin rather than a hollow shell; leaving no doubt as to the warm-blooded man living beneath the armor. Mando winds his hands around her waist and they remain like that for a time; just standing in one another’s arms. Omera fondles the beskar plates upon his shoulders, trying and failing to breathe evenly as she enjoys the comfort of a man’s embrace for the first time since losing her husband. 

Her hands slowly wind around his neck, silently searching for flesh rather than steel. Much to her surprise, Mando covers her hands with his, places them on either side of his helmet and nods. Despite his evident invitation, Omera doesn’t feel right about removing it. The weight of that decision belongs to him and him alone. “I can’t,” she admits, chest heaving. 

“Then how will I kiss you?” He replies all too easily. 

Weak in the knees, Omera is spurred on by his words. Hands shaking, she pulls the helmet up just far enough to reveal a square jaw peppered with a small brown mustache and a smattering of short facial hair. 

_ He’s perfect _ _,_ she thinks, and neither of them can wait any longer. Their mouths meet for the first time, and his lips are warm and slightly chapped, but pliant. Omera squeezes her eyes shut, thinking perhaps this stolen kiss won’t count. That perhaps, when they’re through, she’ll let the helmet fall back into place and not have altered his entire way of life. But for the time being, she _enjoys the ex_ perimental swipe of his tongue along her lower lip. Mando pulls her body as close as his armor will allow and she sighs into his mouth involuntarily. It’s dizzying and passionate, but cannot last forever.

As the kiss eventually slows, Omera knows she has a decision to make. Their lips part reluctantly and with tears in her eyes, she carefully lowers his helmet back into place, still not having seen the face of the stranger she yearns for. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day. How will Mando and Omera navigate their feelings going forward? Perhaps the child will help bring them together, but it may take time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I don’t think I’ve ever been so motivated to write a pairing before.

Mando wakes the following morning with a strange feeling in his gut. While it’s most certainly something to do with Omera, he consciously attributes his unease to the kid having been out of his sight far longer than usual. 

Dressing quickly and donning his armor, the former bounty hunter makes his way outside, only to be welcomed by a tangerine sunrise and the sight of Omera walking along the pond banks and bouncing the child in her arms. 

He breathes an immediate sigh of relief knowing the asset is safe, but doesn’t look away immediately. Mando tries and fails to brush aside the admiration he feels for Omera. She is a natural caretaker. It reminds him of his own mother, from what little he remembers of his early upbringing. He knows in his heart that his mom had been a caring and attentive guardian, because he recognized the lack of comfort and safety as soon as it was gone, which was unfairly early in his youth. 

When Mando does finally manage to collect his thoughts and pull his gaze, he strides toward the familiar figures in the distance. 

Omera kneels and places the child on the ground, letting him explore while every-so-often pulling him back to prevent him from falling in the water. Mando watches this dance happen a number of times as he approaches, thinking back to the time it had been pressing buttons on his ship. The kid is a rascal- there’s no denying it- and the faintest hint of an amused smile pulls at the corner of the Mandalorian’s mouth beneath his helmet. 

Omera attempts to distract the child by offering him some krill from a basket on the water’s edge. His small, satisfied coos carry through the morning breeze. 

She must’ve been up fishing earlier, which meant she couldn’t have slept more than a handful of hours if she’d already had time to accomplish so much. Mando is instantly impressed at the woman’s endurance. 

Omera finally looks up upon hearing his footsteps rustle in the dewy grass. Her smile is bright and welcoming as she unknowingly meets the Mandalorian’s eyes before turning away to continue feeding the child krill.

“You spoil him,” Mando notes, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Well _somebody_ has to,” Omera retorts, rising to stand as her eyes flitter over his armor-clad body accusingly. “Good morning, by the way.”

Mando just looks at her for a moment, silently. “Good morning,” he offers evenly, gaze abruptly falling between their feet as the child approaches, arms outstretched. 

Another pause.

“He wants you,” Omera explains as if it’s obvious. She promptly reaches down to scoop up the baby.

“But- er, why?” Mando queries aloud, and the widow’s expression morphs into one of confusion. How can such a capable man be so utterly clueless? 

“Because you’re his security,” she retorts, carefully placing the kid in his reluctant arms. “He feels safe with you.” Omera tries not to read a double meaning into her words, but it’s undeniable that Mando’s presence makes her feel the very same way.

Her warrior stands stiffly, cradling the child in one arm in a manner that just looked uncomfortable for both of them.

“You know, he’d enjoy it more if you removed this,” Omera notes, pressing a single, accusing finger to his cool, metal chest plate. She smiles slightly at the irony of  her educating the Mandalorian. “Babies like to feel your warmth and heartbeat.”

Mando doesn’t react, merely studying the life form in his arms. “That’s why you should take him,” he finally responds, voice devoid of emotion as he passes the kid over. Omera obliges, though is unable to fully contain her disappointment. She knows he has it in him to be more fatherly. If only he would open himself up to others. 

_ In time _ , she thinks hopefully, letting her mind wander until Mando clears his throat, the sound amplified through his helmet.

“May we speak privately?” he inquires, trying to remain as detached as possible. 

Omera surveys their surroundings. It’s an unusually quiet morning. “Are we not alone?” she responds, perhaps a bit facetiously. “Most of the village is still asleep, and I don’t see the harm in this little guy being present,” she says, referring to the child as she wiggles her nose at him playfully. “He needs a name, by the way. You can’t keep referring to your boy as an ‘it’.”

Mando huffs softly, but cannot bring himself to disagree. “And what would you suggest we call  _ him _ ?”

Omera looks over the child contemplatively. “We’ll think of something,” she replies with determination. “In the meantime, what did you want to talk about?” 

Mando’s posture shifts somewhat uncomfortably. “I- about last night. I shouldn’t have...” he trails off, unsure how to word this. He isn’t much of a talker and Omera just looks amused behind her very polite facade. “I fear I might’ve given you the wrong impression,” he finally manages. 

“How so?” Omera presses insistently as the memory of their kiss comes flooding back. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” he replies resolutely. 

“Nor I,” she confirms in a near whisper. “So there’s nothing to discuss. If you’re afraid I might have...  _ expectations _ ... don’t be. I know you’re committed to Mandalorian culture, and I can’t hold that against you. It’s admirable really; your dedication. And I won’t say anything,” she promises; sincerity in her warm brown eyes. 

Mando is taken aback at how reasonably she reacts. He wonders if there isn’t some sort of subtext hidden within her tone, going right over his head. 

“I.  _Appreciate_ . That.” He sounds robotic, even for him. 

Omera just nods and excuses herself to go check on Winta, taking the child with her.

Mando remains where he is, relishing in the newfound silence; the only sound that of his cape fluttering in the wind. He surveys the land, as if unconvinced they could’ve really eradicated the threat of the raiders. 

He glances back toward the village, only to find Cara smirking at him in the distance. Muttering an expletive under his breath, he reluctantly trudges toward his comrade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will they, won’t they? Mando and Omera continue to dance the line of their true feelings. Cara gives him a hard time, and an important moment is unexpectedly interrupted.

In the days that follow, both Cara and Omera drive him crazy; Cara with her knowing insinuations and Omera with her eyes. Her smile. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear and blushes when she catches him looking at her. 

Mando knows he should leave. Yet the sweet torture of longing for something he can’t have is somehow refreshing in comparison to the emptiness he normally feels travelling the galaxy. And besides, he still doesn’t have a plan for the kid, so leaving doesn’t make sense. Not quite yet. 

The Sorgan sunset paints everything in warm tangerine hues, transforming the landscape into something near-fantastic every evening. The soft shrieks of children’s laughter echo from where they’re playing across the ponds. Mando observes his surroundings in quiet admiration as Omera joins him at his side, having caught sight of the pinked shine of his beskar armor from across the village. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so content,” she notes with a gentle smile. “It’s nice to know that a man of your lifestyle can still stop and appreciate the simple things.”

His helmet turns to look at her over his shoulder. “This level of peace is unheard of throughout most of the galaxy,” Mando retorts detachedly. “It would be foolish not to revel in it while it lasts.”

Omera nods in agreement and follows his gaze outward. However her mind is far too plagued by the man at her side to truly appreciate anything else that her eyes lay sight on. 

“Your boy seems very happy here,” she comments offhandedly, striving to make conversation.

A cool breeze rushes by, as if reminding them of the impending nightfall. “He is,” Mando agrees easily.

Omera shifts her weight uncertainly, but ultimately can’t resist. “What about you?” she asks breathlessly, eyes tracing the edge of his helmet as it catches the light. 

Mando stiffens, resting his hand on the grip of his blaster uncomfortably. “What  _about_ me?” 

“Are you happy here?”

He doesn’t reply right away, considering his answer before admitting it aloud.“I am,” Mando finally replies, voice thick with solemn restraint.

Omera knows exactly why, but refuses to ask the real question lingering on her tongue : _how long are you staying?_

Ignoring the wrench in her gut, the widow instead continues to douse him in kindness, hoping it will somehow make a difference.

“We enjoy having you here,” she admits, seemingly on behalf of the village. “You both fit right in.” Omera takes her leave with a small smile, turning away before any further comment or objection can be made. 

Mando sighs tiredly. He’s already let this go too far. Attachments of any kind are dangerous for men like him.  
  


————-

“Explain to me again why you can’t stay here...” Cara demands with labored breath. She has Mando pinned to the ground, face down, in one of their nightly sparring exercises. “What was it, pride? Honor? Self-importance?” she presses with a teasing confidence.

“Stop,” Mando orders sternly, rolling over and knocking his opponent off of him before scrambling to his feet. “You know why.”

“That was before,” Cara counters, swinging at him as she finds her own footing.

Mando cocks his head with attitude as he dodges her attack, daring her to continue. 

“Before what?” He asks tersely. 

Cara knees him in the stomach, but he sees it coming and locks her in a choke hold. 

“Before you fell for the widow,” she rasps with an amused smirk, despite being limited on air supply. She struggles to break free of his grasp, which would prove more difficult if he weren’t so agitated with their conversation.

“Cara, I swear-“ Mando starts, losing focus long enough for her to slip out of his hold and land a solid blow to his helmet and then his chest, sending him reeling backwards. They maintain their distance for the time being, both catching their breath.

“Oh, don’t try to deny it,” Cara continues. She hides her exhaustion well, but her heaving chest and shining hairline give her away. “You’re a man somewhere beneath all that armor,” her eyes roam over the Mandalorian as if trying to verify his human form. Her expression turns skeptically inquisitive. “At least I hope you are.”

“Very funny,” her beskar-clad opponent interjects dryly. He takes a step forward indicating his desire to continue.

Cara quirks a brow, readying herself for the challenge. “What’s funny is how adamantly you resist.” 

She charges forward, throwing all her weight against Mando until she once again has him pinned to the ground. Cara makes sure to render his dominant arm immobile, knowing his affinity for the flamethrower housed in the right wrist gauntlet. 

“All you would have to do is stay, and Omera would walk willingly into your arms. You take off the armor, change the name. _Boom_. New life,” the rebel warrior taunts with mocking sweetness.

Mando makes no response; just lays unmoving in quiet contemplation. If not for the armor, Cara’s knees would be crushing his chest right now. The former shock trooper searches his body language, knowing he has no choice but to yield in both the fight and the discussion. 

“You know it’s true,” she smiles down at him victoriously. 

“Just-  _ stop _ ,” Mando demands tiredly, breath catching slightly. 

Cara releases her grip and rises to her feet, holding out a hand to help him up in an unspoken truce.

“Then  _ you _ stop depriving yourself,” she orders with a small grunt of effort as she pulls him to his feet. Cara rolls her shoulders and brushes the dirt off her arms. “Look, I get it. You’re used to being a freelance badass who comes and goes as he pleases. But now you’re out of a job and stuck with the kid... so you may as well enjoy it, right? Or are Mandalorians opposed to happiness?” 

He shifts his weight, adjusting his forearm vambrace as he begrudgingly listens to Cara speak her mind. Mando enjoys the physicality of their sessions- it’s the conversation he’s beginning to resent as of late.

“You’re lucky I’m not easily offended,” the bounty hunter remarks; the faintest hint of a threat tainting his tone. 

“Guess I’m not trying hard enough then,” Cara replies with a wink.

As if on cue, Omera crosses the village in the distance, bathed in moonlight as she heads to her modest hut. Mando instinctively turns his head, detecting the movement in his periphery. 

Silence befalls them as Cara follows his gaze. 

“Go talk to her,” she instructs sternly. “Who knows, maybe she’s into the helmet thing and you two can make it work.” Her devious smirk is impossible to contain as she imagines his irritable expression under that shiny beskar. But before Mando can respond or object, Cara shoves his arm hard enough to push him into action. 

He grunts in opposition, but doesn’t stop his feet as they trek forward on a mission. 

This is madness. What is he supposed to say to the woman? They’d had a moment, yes. That much he can admit. They’ve already established that nothing can come of it, and yet... Cara has a point. Things still feel _unfinished_ between them. 

Mando hasn’t felt this flustered since his youth when he had a ridiculous crush on one of the other foundlings- a girl whose strength and diligence he’d been in awe of. But that was ages ago. Romantic entanglement is of no interest to him now. Or so he’s come to believe over the many years of engrossing himself in the work he prides himself on. 

Before he knows it, Mando has nearly caught up to Omera. He clears his throat to make her aware of his presence and she turns around in surprise. 

“Oh, I didn’t see you there.” She smiles, but her eyes are tired. 

Without a word, Mando steps forward and takes the heavy bucket of water she’d been carrying from the ponds, presumably to use for some sort of cooking or cleaning. Omera winces slightly as she transfers the heavy load into his arms, and her discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“You look tense,” Mando remarks gently as he places the bucket on the front porch of her small living quarters.

Omera tries her best to brush off his concern, shaking her head unconvincingly. “It’s nothing,” she assures him, opening the front door and inviting him in. “Just a consequence of being a mother.” But the way her shoulders settle stiffly says otherwise. 

“You work hard,” he observes; tone admiring but also accusative. “It’s possible you may have strained a muscle.” He looks around and pulls out a nearby chair. “Please, sit,” he invites in an uncharacteristic gesture of thoughtfulness. 

“Really, I’m fine,” Omera insists uncomfortably. However Mando’s tilted head, outstretched hand and stubborn silence quickly wear her down and she hesitantly takes a seat at her own dining table.

“May I?” the Mandalorian asks softly, leaning over and awaiting permission before touching her. 

Omera has to remind herself to breathe but somehow manages a nervous nod, eyes closing instinctively in the process. Gloved fingers carefully brush her long hair out of the way before gently kneading the muscles of her neck and shoulders. His touch, while separated from her skin by thick leather, is still electric. Omera quivers slightly and desperately hopes he can’t tell how affected she is. 

“Phhhsssh!” she hisses in a breath as his thumb hits a particularly sore area.

“You have a knot right there.” His modulated voice makes the remark sound methodical and detached. Mando pulls away for a second and it isn’t until his hands return sans gloves that Omera realizes why. She nearly jumps out of her skin at the feel of his warm, rough fingers upon her neck. His strength is evident even in such a gentle action.

“Try to relax,” his familiar though artificial voice urges, interrupting her thoughts as he massages the affected area. 

Omera exhales in amusement. “You say that as if it’s easy in your company.”

The ministrations immediately cease. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks evenly. 

Omera’s eyes shoot open wide. “I think you know the answer.”

Beneath his helmet, Mando swallows thickly. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” her voice is almost desperate in its resolution. “Mando...” Omera sighs and he can no longer fully deny her.  


Taking a deep breath, he confesses, “It’s Din.”

“What?”

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din...” Omera tests the moniker on her lips as she rises from the chair and turns to face him. She reaches for his hand and shivers as their fingers meet for the first time. When he doesn’t pull away, Omera raises his hand and presses his palm to her cheek, relishing in his warmth, if only for a second. “That suits you somehow,” she admits with the grateful upturn of her lips. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He nods once, wishing he could give her more than just his name. It’s a soft, thoughtful moment; the two of them standing in quiet contemplation. The magnitude of what he’s chosen to reveal is not lost on Omera, and she feels the need confess something in return. 

“Din, I-“ 

She’s interrupted by the sharp exclamation of a child’s voice cutting through the evening air. “Mama! Mama!” Winta shrieks, approaches quickly. Din takes a reactive and instinctive step backwards, distancing himself from Omera before the young girl enters the space, winded from running. 

“What is it, Winta?!” her mother asks, hastily kneeling down to her level. Cheeks pink, voice shaky, and tears in her eyes, the girl tries her best to recount what happened. One of the children had been injured and the child somehow  _ healed _ them?

“But something’s wrong, mama. He won’t wake up!”

The Mandalorian is out the door before Omera can even call out his name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you still reading! I hope you enjoy :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Child is fine, but Omera has questions. Will Mando answer them, or push her away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience with this story. There is not nearly enough Mandomera content out there, so I am very excited to contribute to this small corner of our fandom. And I appreciate each of you taking the time to read and leave comments! Enjoy :)

_Din_. The name catches on Omera’s tongue in an attempt to ground him, but he’s already flying out of the hut, fatherly instincts taking over whether he wants to admit it or not. She rushes to the doorway but ultimately doesn’t follow; knowing Mando wouldn’t want to create a scene; knowing that her very presence might distract his strategic and dutiful mind. The Mandalorian is fully capable of caring for the child, and as much as it goes against her nature not to rush to his side and help, Omera knows it’s probably wiser not to interfere in such a fragile moment.

_Would this be it though; the thing that finally sends him packing?_

Winta clutches her mother’s hip, the worry evident in her young, round eyes. “Mama is he going to be okay?” she asks softly, as if not quite wanting to know the answer. While it’s difficult to make sense of the information her daughter had relayed, Omera has faith; faith in Din and faith in the universe not to be so cruel as to take such a precious life. Surely there has to be an explanation. She reaches down and rubs Winta’s head, smoothing her hair in soothing strokes.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she murmurs evenly. However Omera can’t shake the fear dwelling just under the surface of her composed façade.

Ushering her daughter inside, Omera sees that Winta is fed, washed and ready for bed before making arrangements for her precious girl to stay with their neighbors. She knows it isn’t fair leaving her daughter alone and without answers, but answers are precisely what she intends to get.

Omera senses Winta’s hesitance to part ways for the night and kneels down so that they’re eye to eye. “I’m going to assist our new friend and make sure his child is safe and healthy,” she explains with a gentle smile. “The Mandalorian has done so much for us; it’s my turn to help him now. Okay?”

Winta nods in understanding. Her mother always faced problems with selflessness and generosity. Those qualities are familiar staples of her upbringing and usher in a temporary peace of mind.

“Everything will be fine. Be strong, my girl. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Omera kisses her cheek and waves goodbye as Winta dashes inside with her friend Serena.

Alone at last, Omera exhales long and slow as the lingering anxiety creeps back into the forefront of her consciousness. Her gaze drifts toward Mando’s hut and her feet soon follow in equal parts curiosity and concern.

To no surprise, the doors and windows are sealed shut, letting nothing but fractional slivers of light slip through the dwelling. There’s no sound coming from inside; not that that’s terribly unusual.

“Din?” Omera calls out, knocking lightly at the entrance. It feels both strange and wonderful to finally address the man by his name. She hopes he won’t mind its usage now that she’s privy to that particular piece of information.

“Come in,” his familiar voice retorts after a brief pause. Omera wonders if he‘d momentarily considered ignoring her. “Close the door,” Mando orders as she steps through the threshold and into his dimly lit living quarters.

Din is standing over the child’s crib, arms gripping the railing aggressively as he gazes downward. Omera immediately senses the tension in his stance.

“Is he okay?” she asks, helpless but sincere in her inquiry.

A ragged breath crackles like static beneath the helmet. “He will be,” Mando answers tiredly.

His worried exhaustion is all-to-familiar as a parent, and Omera studies his armored silhouette, wishing she could see him. _Really see him_. Look into his eyes with empathy and support, and have him look back with gratitude. She knows Din has a heart. It’s in there; he just keeps it locked away deep beneath the many layers her wears.

Attention fixed on the kid, the Mandalorian all but ignores her. Stepping forward, Omera cautiously joins him at his side and peers into the crib at the child’s near lifeless form. “So it’s true then?” she asks tentatively once she can find her voice. “What Winta said, I mean. He _healed_ that boy?”

In their brief conversation over dinner, her daughter had tried to explain what occurred. A small group of the village youth had been playing on the edge of the forest just beyond the ponds when one boy, Jarvyn, had slipped and gashed his head open on a rock. Winta had winced as she recalled the blood pouring from the open wound. But just as Jarvyn cried out, the child had placed his small green hand upon the boy’s head and in a matter of moments the injury had seemingly faded from existence. Jarvyn was fine, but the baby collapsed.

Omera looks sideways at her companion and gently places her hand over his, silently willing him to open up. If his helmet moves even a fraction of an inch, she can’t tell. Still, the woman persists, waiting patiently in the silence between them.

“It’s true,” Din admits, finally turning to face her. Their hands fall apart in the process. 

“H- has this happened before?”

“A couple of times, yes. He’ll just sleep for a day or two. Takes a lot out of him.” The Mandalorian acts as if something fantastic hadn’t just occurred. As if it’s commonplace for children to possess unseen powers.

Luckily, Omera doesn’t scare easy. Nor does she require any proof. His word, along with Winta’s is enough to convince her of the truth. “I’ve heard stories of such things,” she volunteers thoughtfully. “Of those who bend the Force with their minds. I myself have never seen anything like it. But your boy must be very special to possess such abilities.”

Din’s attention is once again drawn towards the crib. He shrugs his shoulders in contemplation. “I can’t explain it,” is his simple reply.

“You don’t have to.” Omera thinks she is starting to piece the mysterious Mandalorian together bit by bit, and the understanding makes her smile. However, her eye catches something just beyond Din that causes her breathing to hitch. His belongings are gathered in the corner; weapons loaded into their respective crates. Her heart immediately sinks. “But you _do_ need to explain why you’re leaving.” She doesn’t bother to hide the hurt that flickers across her face.

Mando follows her condemning gaze towards his gear. _Of course_ she had noticed and picked up on his intentions. He sighs in relent. “We don’t belong here, Omera.”

“So you’ve said before. But that’s not an explanation. It’s an excuse,” she accuses sharply.

“The child isn’t safe here. It’s time we moved on,” Din explains robotically.

Desperation flooding her senses, Omera refuses to accept his attempted justifications. “If it’s discretion you’re worried about, I assure you… word won’t leave this village of what happened here today. _I promise_. Our people are very considerate and largely removed from the rest of the population of Sorgan.”

Mando shakes his head. “It’s nothing personal. We simply can’t stay in one place for too long. It’s my duty to see that the child is safe.”

Omera feels as if the air is unwillingly sucked out of her lungs. She knows there is nothing she can say or do to make him stay, but it hurts her deeply to even consider his absence from their community. And yet- she can’t object to Din’s reasoning. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Winta. “I see,” she huffs abruptly, averting her eyes and refocusing on the child as a welcome distraction from the weight of the Mandalorian’s unseen gaze. “I don’t know why I expected anything else,” Omera muses as she approaches the sleeping boy, reaching out to stroke his large ear. “It’s a noble cause; protecting a life from harm.”

Behind her, Mando shifts in place uncomfortably. It feels wrong accepting her praise.

“You don’t know the whole story,” he objects without delay.

Omera whirls around to face him once again. “Then _tell_ me,” she coaxes desperately, approaching Din as one would a skittish animal.

“I was hired to _capture_ the kid,” Mando spits harshly. “And I did; turned him over to a group of Imperials.” Voice devoid of emotion and chin tilted up, Din knows he is deliberately trying to put her off. Perhaps if he disgusted the woman before him, it would make his departure easier. Cleaner.

“But…?” Omera urges, pressing forward, knowing there has to be more. As soon as her gentle voice pierces the air, Din knows he doesn’t have it in him to lie. Not to her; especially now that there’s only about of foot of space between them.

“ _But_ I couldn’t walk away,” he confesses. “I went back and I took him. Not without a fight though. Needless to say, I fell out of favor with the guild.”

Omera reaches out and places her hand over his heart, the cool metal warming against the skin of her palm. “You’re a good man, Din Djarin.”

Mando scoffs through the helmet. “No I’m not,” he objects firmly. “A good man wouldn’t have a target on his back and half the galaxy after him.”

Omera furrows her brow at his opinion of himself. “We all make mistakes,” she states evenly, refusing to see him as anything but the noble warrior she’d come to know him as.

“This is different. I’ve made _choices_ ; very deliberate ones that _I_ have to live with. But no one else should have that burden.” His tone softens at the almost offended expression of concern rendered across his companion’s face. “The things I’ve done, Omera… it’s only a matter of time before they find us. Which is why we need to leave.”

She swallows thickly, speaking on behalf of her people when she says “we’d protect you, Din. Just as you’ve done for us. It would be an honor.” With both hands planted firmly on his chest now, Omera searches for the eyes she cannot see. She can feel him distancing himself emotionally, like he always does after opening up to her. 

“We’ve already outstayed our welcome,” Mando replies in denial of her offer. “I appreciate the shelter, but your entire village is compromised now. I won’t ask anything further of you.” He begins to pull away, but Omera hastily grips his arms. Much to her surprise, she can feel the warmth and bulk of his muscles flexing beneath her hold, as she had unintentionally managed to find a piece of him that remained uncovered save for the thick woven cloth of his sleeves.

“You don’t have to ask. It’s the right thing to do,” Omera insists when she can finally think straight again. “We’ll take care of you. _I’ll_ take care of you.”

Her tone shifts noticeably, but Din overlooks the intimate urgency in the air between them. “It’s too risky. I won’t allow you to do that.”

“Then what _will_ you allow me?!” Omera demands in frustration, her speech strained with heartache.

Mando stiffens; surprised at her stern tone. And frankly, she looks as if she’d almost stunned herself.

“Din?” His name comes out in a nervous whisper as Omera closes any remaining distance between them. Her hands slip over his shoulders and up, delicate fingers curving around the back of his neck beneath the helmet. She shudders at the feel of his warm flesh, relishing in the opportunity to touch him again for even a moment.

“If you won’t let me help-” she stipulates breathlessly, “and I can’t convince you to stay… Then will you at least allow me tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers but... things are about to get heated in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you won't accept my help, and I can't convince you to stay, would you at least allow me tonight?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to preface this by saying: please don't hate me!! lol
> 
> I know some of you have really been looking forward to this chapter, and I want to thank you all for the kind words and for your patience. That being said, I've given a lot of thought to how I want to approach this. In order to give readers the option to skip over the more explicit content, I've decided to essentially split the chapter into two parts and postpone the smut till chapter 6. *hides* I know, I know! But I promise you won't have to suffer TOO much longer. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you like it!

His helmet tilts to the left, but it’s difficult to decipher whether the gesture is one of disapproval, disbelief or perhaps complete misunderstanding. The lingering silence is unbearable as the widow imagines all the possible ways he could reject her. She bites her lip, wondering if she’s crossed a line there’s no coming back from. If he’s leaving, there’s nothing to lose though, right? And the tension between them has been palpable from the start, so she refuses to let it go ignored. 

“Din?” she prompts again; voice coming out softer than intended. 

The Mandalorian huffs a small sigh. “Omera, I-“ his tone is laced with a genuine solemnity. “I can’t give you what you want.”

She’s surprised at the remark. Surprised that he doesn’t immediately pull away in disgust and order her to leave. Her pulse races with hope and possibility. 

“You shouldn’t presume to know what I want in the first place,” Omera replies calmly but defensively. 

Mando scoffs. “Look at where you live!” he demands lightly. “Aside from the threat we just eliminated, your home is a sanctuary. It’s serene, unassuming, familial... everything I’m _not_.”

She can’t help but wonder whether there’s a hint of self-criticism or even envy in his words. And yet Omera doesn’t imagine the Mandalorian is the kind of man that is keen to change. Nor does she want him to. Not really. His dedication to the creed is part of what makes him so admirable. 

Arms still wrapped around his neck, Omera’s gaze falls to her feet briefly as she considers her attraction. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s exactly why I’m drawn to you?” she asks. “Because you’re _different_?”

Her eyes flick back up toward the anonymous visor, praying that he might somehow reciprocate that sentiment. She absentmindedly caresses the nape of his neck, toying with the ends of his hair between her fingers. It’s just long enough to curl slightly under the helmet. _What color is it?_ Omera wonders to herself. 

Meanwhile, Din is stunned into silence. His shoulders fall slightly as he shakes his head. “I- wh-“ It’s not the first time she’s witnessed him flustered, but there’s an uncomfortable charm that comes with seeing the Mandalorian reduced to the likes of a stuttering adolescent. The man could take out both flesh and machine with nothing but a blaster, but when it comes to expressing his feelings, Din can’t even manage to form words. Frankly, it’s _adorable_. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he declares, finally acknowledging his confusion aloud.

Omera can practically feel the nerves rattling him beneath the armor as he shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Matters of the heart often don’t,” is her simple, open reply. 

Din decides that being direct is the best and only option at this point. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he states bluntly.

“I know.”

“Then _why_?” He questions, truly baffled as to what the motivation could be. 

“I’m not asking for a commitment. And I’m certainly not asking you to compromise your way of life. I just-“ it’s Omera who falters this time, unsure of how to articulate her desires without coming across as selfish or desperate. “Din, it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this,” she admits modestly as her cheeks pinken. “It may be foolish, but I am completely in _awe_ of you. I have been ever since you arrived.” Her breathing becomes shallow and labored as she confesses. “I know your situation is complicated, and I get that. I just... I guess I was hoping you’d let me take your mind off of all that. Just for a night, Din. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t miss a beat in his reply. “But we both know _it would_ , Omera. And that’s not fair to you.” 

Her heart flip flops in her chest at his immediate, albeit indirect admission of feeling something for her. That knowledge feels sacred somehow. There’s no way Omera is letting him walk away from this now. 

“I’m a big girl, Mando. I know what I’m doing,” she assures him confidently. “And as much as it’ll hurt, I’d rather have you for one night than not at all.” Her gaze, once unsure, is now piercing and relentless; her eyes blown wide with lust. “Please, Din. I know you feel it too,” she whispers, leaning in and gently pressing her lips to his chest plate. 

Without warning, Mando reaches up and snatches her wrist with force, tugging Omera out the door and toward the edge of the wood just beyond his hut. Her heart races.

“Wait right here,” he orders suddenly, holding a finger up to emphasize his demand. “I mean it. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

The widow isn’t sure what to make of his abrupt change in behavior, but she concedes with an obedient nod. When Din returns a few minutes later, he has the familiar sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and a crate of other weaponry in hand. 

“You ready to walk?” he asks casually; as if she hadn’t been on the verge of tearing his armor off just minutes earlier. 

“I- sure... where are we going?” Omera asks cautiously. 

“To my ship,” Din replies, seemingly cool and collected. “Figured I’d get a head start on packing. And we need to talk.”

_Oh._ “What about the k-“

“Cara is watching the child,” Mando finishes, knowing what she’s going to ask. He smiles to himself under the helmet, proud of how well he’s starting to understand the woman at his side. And also the tiniest bit thrilled at the prospect of what might happen when the two of them are finally, _truly_ alone.

“So, what did you want to discuss?” Omera asks as they set off down the moonlit dirt path.

_There it is. The moment of truth._ “To be frank, I’m going to try and talk some sense into you,” Din admits. “But if I can’t- and I mean no disrespect to your village or hospitality when I say this- but, there’s no universe in which I’m first going to have my way with you on a rickety cot in a hut made of reeds.”

He exhales a sigh of relief, in disbelief that he was actually able to get those words out. Din knows his candor is probably highly unexpected. He turns his helmet just far enough to gauge his companion’s reaction out of his periphery, and even in the dark there is no denying the flush in Omera’s cheeks. 

* * *

The remainder of their walk is quiet, peppered with conversation here and there. Mostly Omera asking questions and Mando answering in the most honest yet discouraging ways possible. It feels like a game, but her desire for the man at her side never wavers. 

When they finally arrive at the Razor Crest, Omera smiles at the memory of seeing his ship fly overhead so many weeks earlier. Little did she know at the time what fortune that day would bring. Her gaze shifts from the large silver ship to its metal-clad captain as Din lowers the ramp. 

“Welcome aboard,” he greets, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he gestures for Omera to enter first. 

She takes in her new surroundings cautiously, knowing Din wouldn’t be comfortable with her snooping around and wanting to respect his boundaries. It’s a cold but clearly lived-in environment. _His home,_ Omera reminds herself of his nomadic lifestyle. 

Mando excuses himself briefly to store the weapons he’d brought along and Omera quickly forgets her silent vow not to explore unaccompanied, stepping into the narrow passageway just off the main hold. She can’t help but let her curious fingers run over an empty carbonite freezer, shivering at the thought of being hunted by a Mandalorian. A pang of empathy courses through her for the unfortunate souls that find themselves as Din’s bounty. 

When he returns, Mando pauses in the doorway, studying her as Omera offers him a soft smile. He approaches her very slowly and watches her eyes widen as he encroaches on her space. “Do you trust me, Omera?” He asks plainly.

“Of course,” she breathes in a labored whisper before tacking on, “with my life.”

That’s all he needs to hear. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moderate smut warning! [If that isn't your thing, fear not; you can simply skip ahead to the next chapter as soon as it's available. You will not lose anything story-wise.] The rest of you, enjoy! ;)

“Close your eyes,” Din orders softly. “And no matter what happens, keep them closed. Remember what you just said.” 

Lips parted in speechless exhilaration, Omera nods, quickly taking in his image one last time before letting her eyelids fall shut. Almost instantly, she recognizes the effort that is going to be required on her part. “Should I cover them?” she asks, feeling as though her own body might betray her at any moment. 

“You don’t have to. I trust you to be a good girl,” Mando admits with inhuman composure. Her sharp intake of breath is audible as he leans in closer. “Will you be good for me, Omera?” 

“Yes! Yes, I promise,” she declares with newfound determination. This isn’t a game after all, as much as it might feel like one. His entire way of life is at stake, and somehow, that makes it all the hotter. 

“Good.”

There’s muffled rustling and a gentle clink of metal before Omera finally feels his touch. Gloved fingers run down her jawline. She shudders slightly at the contact but can’t hide the slight upturn of her lips as she feels Din finally close the distance between them. It’s as he leans in that she realizes he’s removed the helmet. The skin of his cheek brushes lightly against hers and his nose nuzzles into her hair as he breathes her in for the first time. She smells of flowers and rain. 

Omera’s heart races knowing that he’s right there in the flesh in front of her; that he trusts her enough to put himself in such a vulnerable position.

“Say something...” she begs, desperate to hear his untainted voice.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Omera.”

She feels her entire body melt before his mouth even captures hers, warmed by the mere sound of his soft but masculine tone and knowing how privileged her ears are to hear it. 

Omera sighs against his lips, pulling Din close and letting her hands slide up his neck until they’re framing his freshly-bared face. She takes note of the short stubble but is quickly distracted by the warm tongue sweeping along her bottom lip. 

“Mmmm.” The involuntary purr of satisfaction rumbles in the back of her throat as she opens her mouth and invites him in deeper. _Someone_ is certainly more eager than he let on. She smiles at the realization of how much they both seem to want this. It’s Mando who eventually breaks away, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before making his way down to her neck. 

“Din. Din, wait!” Omera chuckles. “Slow down...” she urges lightly, grabbing at his hands to get his attention. She can feel his body tense in concern that he’s somehow displeased her, which couldn’t be further from the truth. With a reassuring smile, she reaches blindly toward his face. “Can I-?” Omera isn’t quite sure how to ask a person if she can study them through touch, but luckily Mando understands. 

“Go ahead,” he permisses, guiding her fingers to the sides of his face. She traces his bone structure, trying to map the shape of him. He has a square head and hair just long enough for her to tuck behind his soft ears. Her fingers clutch at the fluffy locks, enjoying their texture. 

“What color is your hair?” Omera asks sweetly, hoping he doesn’t mind revealing more of himself to her. 

“Brown,” Din answers simply; overwhelmed at her attentive caresses. Every innocent touch is only augmented by the fact that his body is typically encased in metal. Non-violent human contact is still so... _foreign_ to the ever-devoted Mandalorian. Truth be told, he’d never been with a woman. He had, however, seduced a great many for _professional_ purposes. Din isn’t completely ignorant to sexuality; it simply hasn’t been of any personal interest to him until now. 

“Hmm,” Omera interrupts his thought process as she traces his cheekbones; the pads of her fingers lingering over the slightly creased skin near his eyes. Din can’t be much older than her based on what she is feeling. “And your eyes?” she inquires patiently. 

“Also brown.” 

The widow nods, wondering what Mando is thinking as she paints herself a mental picture. _Does he enjoy being touched like this? Is he growing impatient?_ Something tells her that even if she could see, it would still be impossible to discern what was going through the man’s head. His emotional repression is frustratingly cryptic, but it somehow adds to his masculine mystique. 

A soft, melodious giggle fills the room as Omera trails a single digit over his curved nose. “Sorry,” she murmurs, biting her lip; unsure as to how the ever-serious Din will react. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just feel ridiculous.” She doesn’t stop though; not until her fingers graze over his thin mustache and come to rest on his lips. 

“You’re very handsome,” she whispers when her exploration is complete. 

“How do you know?” Din challenges skeptically. _And is that a hint of playfulness in his voice?_

“I can tell,” Omera responds firmly; resolute in her assessment. 

He smiles and her heart yearns to see it instead of merely feeling the stretch of his lips and the swell of his cheeks beneath her fingers. It’s only with great effort that she manages to keep her eyes shut. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though; as Omera fears she might’ve openly wept had she bore witness to his tender expression of contentment. 

Din watches her closely; noting the dusty pink color in her cheeks, the labored rise and fall of her chest and the subtle crease of her brow every time she has to fight the instinct to open her eyes and look at him. A part of him feels guilty gazing upon such beauty while Omera is deprived of something so fundamental as sight. It seems deceitful somehow, and leaves Mando with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks; doubt creeping in momentarily. “I want you to be comfortable.” 

“I am,” Omera reaffirms honestly, appreciating how attentive he is to her needs. If anything, his thoughtfulness only fuels the fire burning for him within her. “Now with all due respect, Din Djarin- you’re far too overdressed for the occasion,” she taunts flirtatiously; tapping a single digit against his beskar chest plate. 

The situation is soon remedied when the Mandalorian removes his armor piece by painstaking piece until he’s left in nothing but his undershorts. 

Omera waits patiently with her eyes squeezed shut, letting her imagination run wild at every sound throughout the process. “This is torture,” she informs him, only slightly melodramatically. 

Mando snickers at her restlessness as he finally moves to join her. “Is it? We haven’t even begun, my dear,” he notes teasingly; placing a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “Turn around,” Din instructs. Omera reacts without hesitation and he can’t help the smirk of delight that forms on his lips at her obedience. 

Reaching over her shoulder, Din sweeps her long hair around out of the way, leaning in to kiss her exposed neck from behind. Omera sighs contentedly at the confident pressure of his lips followed up by light, experimental nibbles. She leans back into him and reaches up to cradle his head as he works, silently imploring him not to stop. 

He pulls away soon after though; despite the small whimper of discontent that escapes Omera’s lips. But then she feels his fingers on her lower back, fidgeting with the laces of her dress and suddenly the air gets sucked out of her by some invisible force. _This is really happening._

Din fumbles with the thin ribbons for a minute before he’s able to get them loose. He can feel her tense beneath his fingers. 

“Breathe, Omera.” Even without the helmet, his every suggestion resonates as a command, and it’s undeniably attractive. 

Mando coaxes the loose garment off her arms and down over her hips until the dress pools at her feet. Omera wastes no time in letting her underclothes add to the pile and Din admires her bare form in silent wonder as she turns around of her own accord. 

Reaching out, his thumb caresses her warm cheek; an innocent gesture of admiration as he studies her. She leans into his touch, but it isn’t enough. 

“I won’t break, Din,” she informs him softly. 

Not a second later he has her pressed against the wall; mouth ravaging her with steadfast resolve. He’s _strong_. Omera can feel the force with which he pins her body against his, and she’s thankful for it because every moment of skin to skin contact is a moment closer to her going limp in his arms; sated. 

He tastes divine, if not slightly metallic. However their lips soon part as he moves down to explore the rest of her. 

His teeth graze her collarbone, nibbling lightly as he holds her waist. The gesture sends electric shivers coursing through Omera’s very being. 

Din’s hands trace her curves wantonly, leaving her yearning for more as his lips travel down the center of her body; between her breasts and over her belly, pausing every so often to kiss and explore her soft skin. 

When he’s finally kneeling before her, Din grips her left calf just below the knee, and carefully hoists her leg up, bringing it to rest on his shoulder. He caresses the flesh of her inner thigh with his cheek, stubble tickling and scratching, only setting her nerves alight even further. 

“Din.” 

“ _Yes?_ ” He pauses, intentionally drawing out her frustration.

“More,” Omera pleads, reaching out to weave her fingers in his slightly-curled locks as she pulls him toward her.

He smirks at her eagerness. “With pleasure,” Din remarks. And suddenly his mouth is on her- no longer with teasing gentility, but with the kind of passionate hunger Omera always expected from the mysterious Mandalorian. 

She squeaks as he tastes her, body tensing and wiggling in overzealous delight. His mouth is hot, wet, eager and admittedly, _just_ what she needs. 

“Ah!” Omera shrieks as his teeth graze the crest of her folds. A shot of adrenaline courses through her and she wobbles, nearly going off-balance until Mando grips her hips to keep her steady. 

“Okay?” he laughs. 

“Yes, yes! Please don’t stop,” she begs. 

Din obliges and works her roughly with his tongue; licking and prodding and thoroughly worshipping her sensitive slit until Omera comes apart for the first time. He locks her hips in place with a steel-like grip as she gasps and convulses in exhilaration. It’s otherworldly the way her delicate muscles flutter beneath his demanding mouth. 

Omera appears both absolutely tortured and utterly blissful as she surrenders herself to the man before her. An unfamiliar and perhaps slightly devious sense of pride stirs in Mando’s chest at this newfound sense of power. The draw of intimacy is no longer lost on him. At least not when it comes to this particular woman. 

As she relaxes, Din slowly removes Omera’s leg from where it’s perched over his shoulder and places it back on the ground, making sure she can hold her own weight before rising to his feet in front of her. 

“You-“ her breath catches as she tries to form coherent thought, let alone speech. “-are far too good at this for a man who never takes off his kriffing armor.”

The sentiment entertains Din. “I find that instinct is sometimes just as effective as skill.” 

Omera winds her arms around his neck, finding comfort in his warm flesh as she recalls the assuredness with which Din always moves in that damned shiny beskar. There‘s an undeniable elegance to even his most violent actions, and she’s eager to see how that carries over in _other_ ways.

His arousal is evident between them and Omera dares to reach down and let her fingertips brush over his hardness; her touch light as a whisper, but full of unspoken promise. 

Din mutters something desperate under his breath, presumably in Mando’a. 

“What was that?” Omera asks cheekily, reaching beneath his shorts and taking him in hand. 

“My quarters. _Now_.” 

* * *

They spend the better part of the night passionately entwined in Din’s small bunk, learning one another’s bodies. Mando is everything a woman could want in a lover; strong and dominating but also tender and attentive. His determined endurance is utterly incomparable.

As much as Omera had cared for her late husband, their lovemaking had been more methodical. Satisfying, but far from mind-blowing. This? This is raw passion. Instinctual, freeing and incredibly addictive. She’s never experienced anything quite like it. 

Din sinks into her tight heat slowly, both of them nearly spent but unwilling to surrender to their exhaustion just yet. Omera clings to the man above her with resolve; her fingers surely leaving marks on the skin of his back as she pulls him ever-closer. 

“Right there, Din. Oh!” her lips part as she begins to lose control yet again.

Mando, unsurprisingly, is less vocal. However he studies her wide range of expressions with care, memorizing them as if to revisit later when he’s alone halfway across the galaxy. Din wishes he could look into her eyes as they both fall over the edge together. 

“Once more, Omera,” his unnaturally composed voice demands low in her ear. “Let go. Give yourself to me once more.”

Powerless to deny him, her body reaches its peak yet again. Within seconds, Din is right there with her, spilling inside Omera just as she’d begged him to. Her legs wrap around his hips hungrily, locking their bodies together as tightly as she can manage. 

Mando leans down and kisses Omera hard; swallowing her moans of pleasure and waiting for the excited contractions to inevitably subside. He adores the way her body hugs him both inside and out. 

As the adrenaline wears off, neither of them is in any rush to move. Eventually though, Din notes how her breathing slows and shallows. Surely Omera must be exhausted after their vigorous coupling. He gently rolls over on his side, pulling her with him. Omera doesn’t imagine the Mandalorian is the cuddling type, but her half-conscious brain refuses to let him go. Much to his surprise, Din finds that he doesn’t mind the prolonged physical contact. 

The woman in his arms mutters something utterly incomprehensible in her sleep-deprived state. Brushing the loose hair out of Omera’s face, Din softly presses his lips to her temple. 

“Rest,” he orders. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this reads okay! And I hope Din doesn't across as too soft. I wanted it to feel a bit vulnerable and exploratory. Who knows, rough Mando may come out in later chapters... ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture of domesticity, Din and Omera wake up side by side on the Razor Crest and face some difficult truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for disappearing! I lost my muse for awhile, but as it turns out, I just can’t leave these two characters alone. I hope you enjoy some soft, fluffy, slightly-angsty goodness!

It’s Din who wakes first and his chest constricts slightly at the sight of Omera sleeping soundly at his side. Hair splayed out, she is nestled comfortably against his shoulder. Her breathing is soft and even, unlike his own the longer he gazes upon her.

It’s impossible  not to imagine a lifetime of waking up like this. Having an unwavering partner as selfless, beautiful and level-headed as Omera. Having a lover and companion to worship and confide in...

Din exhales, taking time to gather himself.

Domesticity holds very little appeal to most who share his creed. Their way of life leaves little room for quiet moments of affection. Nevertheless, a knot forms in Din’s throat. He enjoys his work. And up until now, he’d always been fully confident in his allegiance to the Mandalorian way. But this dalliance with Omera leaves him with doubts. 

_ No. They can never have a life together. _ It’s selfish and reckless to even indulge in such fantasies. Din could not love and attend to her as other good men could. And even with his immense combative skill, he could not guarantee her safety given his line of work.

It breaks his heart a little knowing that in some ways, he is simply  _ not enough _ . It isn’t like a Mandalorian to feel lacking in any respect. However, Din cannot deny the many ways in which he is letting Omera down. She trusts him in ways that no one else ever has. And he will forever feel indebted to her kindness, affection and honesty.

Din reaches down and gently takes a strand of her long hair between two fingers, relishing in its soft texture. It’s oddly therapeutic to study something so ordinary and find incomprehensible beauty within it.

Omera truly is a remarkable woman; strong and elegant with a bit of a mysterious past. Not that he can fault her for that. However, Mando couldn’t help but notice the scar on her back during their various unclothed endeavors the previous evening. A ragged, roundish wound- undoubtedly from a blaster- interrupted her otherwise near perfect skin. She’d clearly not had access to any bacta or other medicinal aid given the way it had healed, which led Din to believe that the conditions of her life- before taking up a peaceful residence here on Sorgan- must’ve been harsh.

Before he can think on it much longer though, Omera stirs in her sleep- stretching and burrowing into him even further. Mando swallows uncertainly, reaching around to drape his arm over her. He shifts in place and leans in to kiss the top of her head for no reason other than it just feels  _ right  _ to do so.

After a couple minutes of silent rest, Omera places a slender hand flat on his chest. “Mmm. Good morning Din,” she sighs with a sleepy smile. Eyes still shut, she presses the length of her body against his. “You’re warm,” she notes with satisfaction.

They hadn’t bothered with linens of any kind, far too preoccupied with each other. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed Din’s mind until now. The Razor Crest could be rather inhospitable, as it isn’t designed for comfort and offers little in the way of insulation. Without hesitation, Mando rolls on his side and envelops her in his arms, all too happy to act as a temporary heat source.

Her gentle breath against the bare skin of his torso is maddening in the best way possible. Omera presses her lips against his exposed flesh, as if it were commonplace. As if they’d found themselves in this position a thousand times before.

“You seem tense,” she remarks as her hand travels down to rest on his waist. Her cool fingertips feel as if they somehow permanently brand his skin. Din will never be able to shrug the sensation from his memory.

“And you seem remarkably at ease given the circumstances,” he counters, perhaps turning the mood too serious too quickly. 

Omera props herself up on her elbows. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” she worries aloud. “I’m sorry Din- I can go.”

“ _ No _ .” His tone is resolute and demanding as he reaches out and grips her arms. “That’s not what I meant,” he assures her more softly. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you  _ here _ .  _ Always _ . That- that’s the problem.”

Omera takes his face in her hands. She can sense his conflict well enough without seeing his tortured expression. Truth be told, she feels the same. And it’s both wonderful and terrible knowing that Din is now equally as invested in their deepening connection.

Thumbs gliding over his dry lips, Omera does her best to reassure Mando while also selfishly cherishing the feel of him once more. “Wherever you and the Child go, you may do so knowing that I’m with you in spirit,” she promises evenly. It’s little in the way of comfort, but her sincerity is heartwarming nonetheless.

Din shakes his head contemplatively. “Bounty hunting is all I’ve known for so long that I- I just thought I could go on like that forever. But...” the words catch in his throat, uncertainty clouding his ability to continue.

“But?” Omera prompts in a whisper. Even with her eyes shut, it feels as if she’s looking upon him. Din can feel her studying him in the short silence.

“Let’s just say I just never realized how fragile my creed was. That one person could... well,  _ change _ everything.”

She is moved by his openness, and still in utter disbelief that a man like Din could feel anything for an ordinary woman like her.

“You could open your eyes, Omera,” he continues unexpectedly. “ _ Right now _ . And it would rid me of these invisible bindings in an instant.”

_ Wait- was he asking her to?! _

Omera stops breathing and shakes her head in disbelief, fighting back tears as she leans in and presses her forehead to his. “ _No_ ,” she responds softly. “I won’t.” Her voice wavers.

Her words are somehow as relieving as they are disappointing. Uncertain which way his motivation leans, Din presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth and tells himself it’s out of gratitude. “Why not?” he inquires out of curiosity.

Their lips hover far too closely for rational thought to take place. Yet somehow Omera wills herself to speak. “Because right now...” she heaves a sigh, on the brink of breaking down as her voice becomes little more than a whisper. “Right now your boy needs _the Mandalorian_... more than I need  _ Din _ .”  


She can’t help it. A single, hot tear escapes from her closed eyelids. Omera hates to appear weak in front of him, but Mando makes no remark as he brushes the salty sentiment away with his thumb. 

“You are too good for this galaxy,” he says plainly.

* * *

Soon after, Din leads Omera to the fresher at her bidding. He’s stunned however, when she refuses to release her grip on him as he turns to leave. Perhaps against his better judgment, Mando complies. They step into the small space and rinse off together. But once their lips find each other, it’s all over. Things never go beyond kissing- but it’s slow, wanting and passionate- as they both know this is goodbye.

Din eventually manages to peel himself away and don his armor as Omera finishes bathing.  _This is the way_ , he tells himself silently, though with less conviction than ever before. 


End file.
